Callaghan turned his head to look at her for the first time, and it was like being pinned in the crosshairs. Her lungs constricted, the air trapped there as he stared at her. She felt stripped of her skin. Like he was seeing inside her, assessing, weighing and measuring her. She had to resist hunching her shoulders and looking away.
The deep blue of his gaze was hard and flat. It reminded her of the cobalt glass her grandmother had collected. For years the little vases and bottles sat in Nana’s windowsill, catching the morning sunlight. They had always mesmerized Briar. She’d felt safe in that kitchen, her legs swinging from her chair, not quite grazing the floor as she ate her breakfast. Not like she felt here.
Callaghan’s top lip curled faintly in a knowing smirk, and she felt exposed. As though he knew all she had been thinking. Every low thought of him. Every fearful notion she had. Just as quickly as it appeared, the smirk vanished and his lips flattened, covering up his straight white teeth again.
Chester’s voice snapped her to attention. “I can stay here and keep an eye on him, miss.” He grinned at her with a cocky tilt of his head. “Make sure he don’t give you no problem.”
Her gaze flicked to Dr. Walker and Josiah, already attending to their patients. The other guards, with the exception of Chester, were leaving the room.
She squared her shoulders. She had signed on for this. No wimping out now.
“That’s not necessary.” She’d worked hard to put herself through college and become a nurse. She was a professional. It was her duty to care for the sick—-not judge them.
She rounded the desk and grabbed some gloves from a box on a standing rolling tray of medical supplies. “You can go now, officer.”
His cocky smile slipped slightly. He nodded slowly. He glanced at Murphy, awake from his nap and standing somewhat more attentively near the door. “Right, then. Don’t hesitate to hit the panic button if you—-”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
Chester’s chest lifted on a breath. He walked over to Callaghan and tapped him on the shoulder with his baton. “Behave yourself, boy. I’ll be back to fetch you later.”
She watched the officer swagger off, the resemblance to her father uncanny. Not his appearance. It was his posturing. Her father was that same good old boy. On the surface he acted so good--natured and courteous. Everyone loved and admired him, the gentleman looking out for the fairer sex, when behind doors he liked to use them for his personal punching bag.
Shaking off those ugly memories, Briar moved on leaden feet, dragging the rolling tray of supplies with her and stopping in front of where Callaghan sat on the edge of the mattress.
Even sitting before her, in full restraints, he seemed . . . big. Intimidating in a way that he shouldn’t be. He made her feel small. At five feet seven and a size twelve, that sensation had never plagued her. Besides, he was a prisoner. He lacked all freedom. Freedom to hurt her being paramount. That should take away his aura of power.
It should, but it didn’t.
She eyed the gash on his forehead. “That’s a nasty cut. What happened?” she asked before she could rethink the question. It was just habit. The thing she asked when she sat down with every patient. In this case, for a split second she simply forgot that he was not every patient.
At his silence, she lowered her gaze from his forehead to his eyes. Her lungs tightened again as she fell into a sea of cobalt. She resented that—-that he should have such stunning eyes reminiscent of a part of her childhood that was pure and untainted.
“Do you know where you are, honey?” The deep rumble of his voice felt like gravel rolling over her skin, and she blinked, confused by the question—and irritated by the “honey” designation. It was an endearment, but something in the way he said it made it feel like an insult.
“Of course I know where I am,” she answered.
“Then you can probably guess what happened to me.”
She flushed. “I’m sure it was a fight, but I was looking for more specifics.” She dragged her gaze away and picked a cotton swab off the tray. Dousing it in astringent, she faced him again. She was careful to keep her attention trained to his wound and not his face—-not those eyes.
Dabbing the swab against his forehead, she fought to keep her stare from dipping down. Wiping away the blood, she could see he was going to need sutures and said as much. “Dr. Walker is going to want to take a look at this.”
A glance over her shoulder revealed Dr. Walker still examining the inmate with the injured knee. From his concerned expression, she knew he would send the man out to Radiology to get his leg X--rayed.
When she turned back to Callaghan, she found his unswerving gaze trained on her face. Her cheeks caught fire and she knew she was tomato red.